


Absolution

by Leonia42



Series: A Violet in a Snowstorm [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Heavensward, Holy See of Ishgard, Stormblood, introspective, potential relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 00:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12852495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonia42/pseuds/Leonia42
Summary: Venice Lysander, the Warrior of Light, doesn't believe for a moment that the Battle of Ala Mhigo has brought about the war's end. Though the physical fighting may be over, she continues to struggle against a battle within her own mind, trying to find her place in the world after witnessing brutal combat abroad. She returns to the one place that has granted her sanctuary and succor in the past, the Holy See of Ishgard, to engage in a bit of soul-searching with an old friend.[This is a post-4.0 story and as such contains Heavensward and Stormblood MSQ spoilers.]





	Absolution

The notice board that stood near the counter in the Forgotten Knight was covered in odd requests. Venice Lysander, hero of the realm, browsed it intently looking for some acceptable intermittent work to keep her occupied. All she really wanted was an excuse to stay a little bit longer in Ishgard, as far away from the heat and sand of Gyr Abania as possible.

“Back from the war in the East already?” a familiar voice called over from the bar. The voice belonged to an elderly Elezen with brown hair and a goatee, the Forgotten Knight’s proprietor and renowned Ishgardian keeper of secrets: Gibrillont.

“Aye, for a little while anyway,” the highlander said over her shoulder, pushing back a few strands of purple hair as she turned to look at him. Her military-style haircut had grown out to the annoying stage where it was too long to be tucked behind her ears but not yet long enough to be pulled up. _Please don’t ask me to talk about it_ , she silently begged him.

“If you’re looking for fulfilling work, I could find you something a bit more thrilling than hunting down lost heirlooms or house sitting,” the barkeep said with a mirthful chuckle, pointing at the board. “Why should the slayer of Nidhogg want for rudimentary tasks? Liberating entire nations not enough for you any more?”

“The world doesn’t end every day and a girl still has to eat,“ she said with a smile. “I’m trying to keep things simple, sometimes small jobs are rewarding in their own way.”

“Aye, they can be, and who am I to question what you do on your own time,” he began to clean the bar top, assuming the usual position of one hoping to hear a scandalous rumour, ”Got any tales of your latest adventures to share? I know better than to ask but sometimes the locals talk about you. Actually, quite a lot of the time. Maybe if I throw them a bone once in awhile they’ll find something else to tickle their fancy. Wouldn’t it be nice to hear some actual news for once.”

“What do they say exactly?” Venice raised an eyebrow and leaned against the bar top. Almost immediately she regretted the question. Gossip in Ishgard was as prevalent as elementals in the Twelveswood, nearly as temperamental as well. “On second thought, don’t tell me.”

“Well, I only pick up on snippets here or there. Start to notice patterns that stand out,” he said with a mischievous and knowing glance. When it became clear Venice wasn't going to ask him to elaborate, he changed tact, ”Hilda’s group in particular is very enamoured with you by the by, you should check in with them while you’re here.”

“Fine, Gib, _tell me_ ,” Venice said with great reluctance. The place was empty and there was little harm in indulging an old informant who had once passed along valuable intel back in the days of her exile.

Despite said lack of other patrons, Gibrillont lowered his voice and pretended to be aggressively cleaning a tankard which was already spotless, “They speak of you and Ser Aymeric, together.”

“Like, as a couple?” Venice laughed, what a ludicrous notion. Then, before he could answer, a fleeting sense of nervousness came over her, a feeling she didn’t quite recognise. The sensation was gone before she could put a name to it, like sand falling from one’s fingers. Gods she hated sand.

“Nay, not exactly. It's like.. the two of you are one and the same in the eyes of the people. You were there for all the same moments that led up to the end of the war and everything that happened afterwards. Anyway it’s nothing too specific, just found it interesting that your names are never mentioned in separation. Don’t read too much into it.”

 _Too late_ , she was already beginning to do exactly that. She was fond of the lord commander, but so was everyone else. What wasn’t there to like? It seemed strange that the thought had not actually occurred to her before, they were good friends and had been through some real trials together. When had their relationship grown past a professional level of camaraderie? Had she missed something crucial?

“Well, since you’re still here, can I get you a drink?” he asked all business-like, oblivious to her unease. Venice was mighty tempted and rarely turned down such a request.

“Not staying long enough, I’m afraid. Need to check in over the Congregation, maybe they have some thrilling work to do,” she said before making her move to depart.

“Next one is on the house, miss, for all your good deeds,” he called after her with the tiniest hint of a chuckle under his breath.

The frosty air outside was refreshing, a stark contrast to the sweltering tavern. Large, fluffy white snowflakes drifted aimlessly around Venice, a sight she had not seen for many moons.The highlander paused to appreciate the cold weather phenomenon before making her way through the large oaken doors that marked the entrance to the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly.

Only a handful of knights were milling about the main foyer, all too busy with their tasks to take heed of Venice’s arrival. Instead of the usual maps of Coerthas and Dravania, the large war table was covered with several piles of scrolls and documents. Ser Lucia seemed overwhelmed by their presence, she eagerly looked up from her work to greet her former colleague.

“Mistress Venice, by the Fury am I glad to see you,” she said with sincerity, rising from her chair to shake hands with the other woman.

“Keeping busy I see,” the shorter of the two highlanders remarked, waving her hand at the deluge of paperwork.

“Requisition forms, and then some,” Lucia responded, shaking her head with annoyance. “Still playing catch up since returning from the warfront. I fear this is a battle that cannot be won.”

“Don’t give up!” Venice chided her.

“I suppose I have you to thank for some of this,” Lucia said, pointing to a pile of personnel dossiers. “We’ve been inundated with requests of fresh enlistments. Your courage both here and abroad has encouraged the youth of Ishgard to follow in your formidable footsteps.”

“Ah,” Venice frowned. She wanted nothing more than to escape the war and yet others were eager to march for a noble cause which promised them glory and prestige. A romantic notion that she knew too well was false.

Flashbacks of bodies on the sands of Gyr Abania rushed to the forefront of her mind, all of them were young, aspirational individuals following orders. Even on the Garlean side, the men and women had rarely been seasoned fighters. The fires of warships torn asunder, the heavy smoke of recent skirmishes, the smell of death and decay, she wanted to forget all of it. And the poor Domans without any proper armour, wearing the only clothes they had, wielding farming implements rather than proper lances or swords. The knights of Ishgard had no idea how other nations fought, how much they suffered for the tiniest of victories.

Before despair could overtake her heart, a more uplifting thought crept in. Though the young soldiers did not fully understand the pain they were relieving, they didn’t need to. They were determined to go because that’s what knights were supposed to do: protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. They fought so that those other people could enjoy the privileges of freedom and prosperity.

She wondered briefly if Lucia could feel the same way about it all, having been a fighter for much of her life. Had it bothered her to kill so many Garleans or had she long stopped thinking of herself as one of them? Or did she hold the traditional opinion of the higher ranks, the view that the provisional forces were barely a step above barbarism? Some day Venice would have to ask her, there were so few other Garleans she could speak with.

“Did you come here looking for something? Or _someone_?” Lucia grinned while leaning precariously against the table, her arms casually crossed across her chest. She was angling to draw out Venice’s timely distraction as long as she could get away with. It wasn’t the kind of game Venice was interested in playing.

_Gods damn it, not you too._

“Is he available or not?” Venice asked, cutting straight to the chase.

“I’m afraid not today. As I mentioned, we’re still catching up on work that accumulated in our absence. Every day is a new juggling act, not all the work pertaining to Temple Knight affairs. There’s simply not enough bells in a day to accommodate unscheduled appointments.”

“Lucia, it's _me_ , surely he can afford five minutes to talk to an old friend?”

“Maybe in his private time, which he doesn’t have any of by the way so don’t ask. You could try at the end of the day though I wouldn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Sure, thanks for not trying,” Venice didn’t mean to sound bitter but it was hard to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

“Take care of yourself, Venice. We’ve all been through a lot recently. Again, I am quite sorry,” Lucia sounded like she meant it though it didn’t alleviate the weight that had built against Venice’s breast.

\---

Venice spent the rest of the day wandering around the Holy See, refamiliarising herself with its streets and avenues. She couldn’t be entirely certain but there seemed to be more people than usual going about their daily routines, perhaps it was a sign that the lowborn and the highborn really were beginning to mix amongst each other. There were a fair few foreigners among the crowds, most of them merchants or worldly adventurers like her who were passing through.

She relished every moment. The towers and spires reaching ever heavensward, the tolling bells of the cathedral in the heart of the city, the persistent gossip, the lavish fashion worn by the nobles, the savoury buns in the Crozier that could be smelled halfway across the Pillars. Stonework and other robust building materials had replaced the rickety scaffolding that had once covered much of Foundation. A variety of new shops had opened up in the Brume, giving it far more life than she had remembered.

Ishgard was a fortress built by warriors, its citizens took for granted its grandness but not Venice, the Warrior of Light, recently returned from a campaign abroad. The arches which surrounded the city proper felt like the folds of a cocoon, keeping the outside world at bay. The ballistas and other armaments were designed to repel dragon attacks but could easily counter any other sort of aerial threat. There were only two entrances: the Steps of Faith and the airship docks. Moreover, within the highlands beyond, there were strategically placed watchtowers that could alert of any incoming assailants. In addition to the city’s physical defences, there were the disciplined knights which guarded her on a regular basis, whether they were house or temple knights. Everything about the city made her feel safe, made her feel whole and complete.

The sound of clanging metal broke Venice out of her reverie, she recognised it at once as someone moving quickly in armour which meant they were no green recruit. She held her breath and clutched the pouch of soul crystals which hung from her belt, wondering which she would draw upon first should there be a need. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a female Elezen wearing the colours of House Hallienerte, nothing more than a guard in a hurry to relieve her mate from his patrol. She let out a held breath and questioned why the noise had made her so flighty in the first place. The war was over and even if it weren’t, the battlefields were malms away.

Venice tried to laugh away her sudden burst of insecurity. Among the affluent Elezen of the Pillars, she felt almost insignificant, a notion which filled her with absolute delight. In other cities people would stare at her cumbersome, tall form, some would treat her as though she were Ala Mhigan on account of her tanned skin. As far as highlanders went, there weren’t many taller than her, she often had to look underfoot for the smaller races. But Ishgard was different, it was civilised, and the Elezen which called it home were beautiful, highly educated, and full of good manners. She truly enjoyed watching them in their native element, completely unlike their loafsome Gridanian counterparts.

Absently, she reached for a small object within her coinpurse: a signet ring bearing the heraldry of House Fortemps, secured to a small chain so it could not easily be lost. She wasn’t an outsider any more, she was one of them, perhaps not an Elezen but Ishgardian in all but name.

Life went on, ordinary people remained ignorant to the dangers that existed elsewhere. Blissfully ignorant, like everyone in the Alliance had been after the Battle of Ala Mhigo. While everyone else raised their voices in celebration, Venice could not shake the gnawing sensation of doubt. The battle had been won too easily, the Garleans were either grossly incompetent or playing them for fools. It was possible that both circumstances were true. She knew better than most that the Empire excelled at the art of mindgames, complacency would be the Alliance’s true downfall.

But did anyone care what she thought? No, she was their Weapon of Light, to be used when and how they saw fit. Nobody had asked her for her opinion before the push across the Wall, nobody cared about her experiences in Doma. Victory had come and it had come swiftly, the danger was over. Or so they thought. It was never over, so long as men sought power, others would lose theirs and the cycle would renew. And she would be thrown into the middle of it, as always.

A pair of footsteps approached, not ones clad in steel but rather covered in a soft material. Plush leather. A civilian. Venice looked up and barely recognised the boy, no, a young man now.

“Oh it _is_ you, Mistress Lysander. I was very worried about having another embarrassing encounter today,” Honoriot said with relief. The Elezen servant had been about Alphinaud’s height last time she had seen him, he had easily grown past her shoulder since then.

“We’ve been through this, it's just Venice, we’re family now,” she smiled and motioned for him to sit beside her. He blushed at her impropriety, it wasn’t proper for one of his station to address anyone of hers with such familiarity. He refused to take the proffered seat, instead holding out one of his savoury buns. It smelled of dhalmel meat and mushrooms, causing Venice’s stomach to churn in anticipation.

“If you say so, miss. I’m already running quite behind today, could you take this extra bun off my hands by chance? You look a little peckish, if you don’t mind me saying so. I got a bit too greedy and well, there was an incident, and why am I blabbering on about it all. Just take it please.”

“Alright, is there anything else you need a hand with?”

“No, please pretend you didn’t see me,” the panicked lad begged her, she nodded in agreement and he ran off down another street, muttering about a mix up at the shops.

Venice shook her head, amused by it all. Kindness still existed in the world if one looked hard enough.

As the sun began to set, Venice came to the realisation she had been stalling rather than biding for time. A gust of wind pushed past and she pulled her cloak in tight. She had spent many bells watching the people, trying to formulate in her mind what she would say when she saw Aymeric next. And why should it be so difficult? She had had many candid conversations with him before although they had all related to more worldly affairs, such as the future of Ishgard or the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

It wasn’t like they talked about anything personal, aside from that one time when Alisaie had conveniently taken a poisoned arrow to the shoulder just as it was starting to get interesting. Venice had long since forgiven her imperiled friend but she often wondered how that evening might have played out should that particular interruption not have occurred.

_You’ve fought and killed over a dozen primals, super powerful elder primals, practically immortal dragons, leaders of the Empire, watched countless friends perish before your eyes, witnessed near-Calamity like events and you can’t think of how to fucking say hello to the lord commander, your closest ally who has most certainly confided in you before? What in the seven hells is wrong with you._

The foyer was dark, only a handful of candles remained lit, the knights from before had long since left. Neither Ser Lucia nor Ser Handeloup were present, even the guard outside was absent. In their place was a solitary, tall figure dressed in blue and gold, hunched over the war table rifling through parchments. Before Venice could say a thing, the wind kicked up again, slamming the heavy door behind her with a reverberating clamour. She grimaced, not exactly the subtle entrance she had been hoping for.

“Venice? I had no idea you had arrived,” Ser Aymeric the Blue said with the utmost surprise.

She too was surprised, his usual vim and vigour had been replaced with tiredness, his expression was one of pure exhaustion. Dark circles, sagging pauldrons, the sword at his side hung lower than it ought to have. Despite the rest of his appearance, there was a brightness in those blue eyes as he looked back at her. He had been in the middle of sorting through paperwork, a most mundane task, preparing a satchel for the work he would carry home that evening.

The task she had distracted him from no longer compelled his interest. Instead, he crossed the threshold to greet her with newfound energy. More energy than she might have anticipated.

“Full glad I am to see you hale and hearty,” he said with genuine relief, embracing her as one would embrace a comrade-in-arms. Except the embrace lasted a few seconds longer than could be described as appropriate for two people who were just friends, not that there was anyone around to say so. Not that Venice particularly objected to the gesture.

He towered over her like he always did, she barely reached his shoulder. But that had always given her a sense of a comfort. Aymeric was one of the strongest, most dedicated warriors she had met in her travels. It was refreshing to have someone she could literally look up to.

“Well, here I am,” she managed to say when he pulled away.

“For a moment I feared a last minute petitioner had wandered in.To what do I owe the great pleasure of your company?”

“I think I’m homesick,” Venice blurted out before her brain could process his flattery. _No, not flattery, politeness._

“Ah, Venice, we should fix that. I was about to head home for the evening, you’re welcome to come with me. Dinner won’t be as extravagant as the last time you came over but I think you might appreciate some old-fashioned Ishgardian cuisine after your travels in foreign lands. I’ll just finish gathering these documents and then we can walk and talk, would that be alright?”

“Love to,” Venice did not want to get a reputation for turning down free meals, especially ones that led to Borel Manor.

The path they took was indirect and winding, perfect for conversation. The guards they passed along the way showed them respect, saluting their commander and referring to Venice as “my lady” rather than as “mistress”. Venice tried to keep the mood light, focusing on her adventures in Othard. Aymeric’s curiosity about the Doman culture was insatiable, he couldn’t fathom how they fought with thin, curved blades or built shelter out of delicate materials. He asked her questions like “what did Far Eastern dragons look like” and “what exactly are the kami?” and “How does one eat soup with chopsticks?”

She did the vast majority of the talking which was fine with her, it was practically liberating to be listened to. The primals, Susano and Sri Lakshmi, were fairly standard fare as far as she was concerned but she told him about the encounters anyway. While she was sure he’d be more interested in the other pivotal battles she had fought, she didn’t quite feel ready to confront her previous failures against Zenos.

After a couple of minutes spent cleaning off snow from their clothes and washing up, Aymeric and Venice met in the dining room.

“Where is your servant tonight?” she asked.

“He is a bit under the weather as of late. I have forbidden him from returning to his duties until he has made a full recovery. But worry not, I am more than capable of self-sufficiency,” he said with pride. She didn’t doubt it, having risen in the ranks of the Temple Knights as quickly as he had, there would have been more involved than knowing how to wield a weapon or blindly following orders. No knight in all of Ishgard had seen as much action as him, had endured as much hardship as he had. “You said something earlier about feeling homesick?”

“Oh that? It's a silly story,” Venice said dismissively while her cheeks filled with flush.

“You’ve told me many stories but not one of them has had comical value. Go on,” he encouraged her. She wasn’t sure if he had meant it as a compliment or not and she didn’t feel like any of her tales had been told with the fervour they deserved. But that particular one was of personal importance to her and he wanted to know.

“I was exploring the Menagerie as I had done for several nights since the end of the siege, still hoping to find some piece of life left within it but to no avail. As the sun began to set on the horizon, I glimpsed its rays bouncing off the white capped mountains in the west. There was a bright, blinding light that lasted only a moment. And then I felt this sudden pain in my belly, like I’d taken one of Lyse’s punches straight to the gut, it was terrible. I looked out again and the light was gone. I know the geography of Gyr Abania fairly well now so I thought about how far west those mountains reached.

Long before the Conjurer’s Guild stuck a staff in my hands in Gridania, I had been accustomed to living rough on my own. Staying on the move was the only way I knew how to live. Since then, I’ve gone wherever I was bidden to go, a neverending journey across Eorzea and beyond. I was born on the continent of Ilsabard but not once did I think of Garlemald as my home. Not until Haurchefant invited me to Ishgard did I know what that word even meant.

Then the answer seemed obvious: Abalathia’s Skull turns into Abalathia’s Spine. I could whistle for my ‘bo, follow those very mountains and be back in Ishgard in less than a day if I flew fast enough. I nearly did exactly that, the compulsion to do so was so strong. There wasn’t much work to be done around the Palace anyway and the Lochs were dreadfully boring at the best of times.

Obviously I opted for a more direct approach via the Aethernet but someday I might like to take the long way around. Just to appreciate how far the distance actually is.”

“Perhaps we could do it together,” he suggested. Then, with a broad smile he added,“It fills me with joy to know that you’ve chosen Ishgard as the place where you belong. We are ever fortunate for your presence.”

After dinner had been consumed, the discussion shifted inevitably to politics.

“How is Lyse adjusting to her new role?” Aymeric enquired.

Venice gave a heavy sigh, “Her heart is in the right place and maybe eventually she’ll know what she’s doing but right now it's hard to see how an inexperienced leader is going to protect a fledgling nation. The Garleans were a big problem for Ala Mhigo but they weren’t its only source of frustration. I’m sure it won’t be long before I’m called away to help her.”

“If she surrounds herself with competent advisors, she’ll be fine. Starting over from scratch isn’t easy even for those of us who know what they’re doing, “ he reminded her carefully. “And hopefully you will not have to leave _too_ soon.”

Everything about Lyse had gotten under Venice’s skin, the lies, the ineptitude, the child-like way she approached life. But she knew she was being too harsh, she didn’t envy the task that lay before her. Leave the politics to people who gave a damn about such things.

“You know she had to leave the Scions, right? I can’t express how angry it made me when she shared the decision with the rest of us, not that I could tell anyone else because we were supposed to send her off in high spirits, showering her with praise and admiration as you do when a longtime friend chooses to walk another path.”

Venice paused, surprised by the bubbling anger threatening to pour out the more she spoke. Where was all the anger coming from? She should have been grateful that the Scions were functioning again, just as they had before the banquet. They had been the closest she had come to having a family in Eorzea, providing her shelter and purpose.

It had been an up and downhill battle to bring them back together, losing everyone and then regaining members from the grave, going through the motions of betrayal once more. She had mourned all of them and finally begun to move on. No, it wasn’t at all the same as before, not without Minfilia or Papalymo, not even with the additions of Alisaie and Krile.

And besides, she had done alright without them for a long period. There had been no one to tell her which path to follow in Ishgard, she had arrived at those decisions on her own. Alphinaud had been there of course but he had more or less followed her lead. Somewhere along the way, she had even come to belong to a new family, one that valued her more highly for who she was and not only because of what she could do for them.

“Naturally now is the perfect time to lose another member. I mean, why not, I do everything anyway. Maybe I wasn’t so much as angry at Lyse as I was at my inability to make the same choice. Why am I not allowed to leave the Scions?”

“Your the Warrior of Light,” Aymeric said simply, missing the point she was trying to make, an unlikely mistake for him.

“Exactly,” she took a long breath. “You once said I was beholden to none but my conscious would never allow that to be true. By the Twelve, I wish it could be otherwise. I am duty-bound against my will to be Hydaelyn’s champion and for a long time, I resented that calling. Gradually, I’ve come to accept the part I must play, the part that nobody else can.

However, there is one thing I did not sign up for and that is becoming a soldier.

The Scion’s mandate has changed without any singular person calling the shots. We are supposed to protect the realm from Cataclysmic threats, not act like some type of special forces military unit. If this is how things are going to be then I don’t want to be involved. There are other people with the Echo, if that’s all that matters to them.”

“You feel very strongly about this, don’t you?”

“Aye, but don’t worry. I’m not actually going to leave. I’m more upset about not having a choice. On the contrary, I can resign my commission with the Immortal Flames at any time; I am sorely tempted to do so because I do not like being referred to as a First Lieutenant in the slightest. I don’t enjoy taking orders and I’m not qualified to be giving them. Nobody should be giving me salutes. Maybe I shall do just that when I return.”

Venice leaned back and took a sip of her wine, her throat had gone dry from all the ranting. She thought speaking her mind would grant relief but it had only made her more frustrated, giving voice to the shackles that held her. _Beholden to none, if only_. She had seen enough of people struggling under oppression, losing their freedom because somebody else thought they knew better. Her thoughts were as confusing as a thorny briar patch; she stared intently at the empty bowl before her and hoped clarity would return.

Aymeric extended his hand across the table, palm up, and she took it without hesitation, without even looking him in the eye.

“You’ve been dancing around the issue all night. What’s really troubling you?”

“The war,” she said definitively. “It isn’t over yet. When it's all said and done, will we be seen as liberators or conquerors?”

She looked up at him then, his expression characteristically pensive but also showing something else. It wasn’t worry or concern, rather an offering of confidence. A short, five-minute catch-up had already blown out into a longer exercise than Venice had anticipated but she could not deny that the reassurance he provided right then was exactly what she had need of all along.

He had listened to her go on and on, had let her control the flow of the conversation because the thing she feared most was the loss of her freedom. How had he came to that conclusion before she could? Rarely did anyone care about her feelings, why was he so considerate?

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and smiled wryly, “That, my friend, is a loaded question not suitable for the dinner table. Mayhaps we should continue this somewhere more comfortable.”

“I’ve intruded on your evening enough,” Venice insisted.

“Unless Ishgard is in peril, you are entitled to my full, undivided attention. Can’t you allow yourself to be the one looked after for once?” He got up to leave the table then, before she could make another protest. She relented and followed after him, knowing full well it was not wise to enter into an argument with the Speaker of the House of Lords. “We can reconvene in the lounge room, with warm tea and a roaring fire. Take as long as you require, the evening is young and it belongs to us.”

\---

For the first time, Venice had ample opportunity to take in the detail of her surroundings. While she knew that the other nobles considered the manor to be one of the smallest and most modest in Ishgard, it still felt like she had been given access to the Imperial Palace of Garlemald.

The large paintings on the walls portrayed landscapes of faraway places, she didn’t see any Ishgardian architecture in any of them nor did she recognise any of the locations. Above the mantelpiece hung a house banner, in image in black clinging to a golden background. What the image depicted, she could not discern, it might have been an upturned goblet or a horn of some kind.

The mantlepiece itself harboured the most intriguing miniaturised portraits done in oil paints, each portraying its subject with excruciating detail. Some of the figures were familiar to her, in the middle was a House Fortemps portrait featuring the entire family. Everyone looked serious except Haurchefant with his infectious smile and rebellious blue hair. He was so young then, none of the boys except Artoirel were fully grown. They all wore the same dapper suits.

Other frames showed important people like the last lord commander, officers of the Temple Knights, a couple of members of the clergy. The one that caused Venice to laugh out loud featured a scowling Estinien, even a professional artist could not resist the urge to paint him so. On the far end, almost on its lonesome, a solitary frame featured a beautiful female Elezen with long hair and dark blue eyes. She held a striking resemblance to Ysayle with the way she carried herself, full of passion and fire.

“I hope you take your tea with milk and honey,” Aymeric said while handing her a piping hot porcelain mug.

“When in Ishgard,” she smiled and gave a little toast. “Is she..?”

“My mother, yes.”

“I wish I could have met her.”

“She was a very complicated woman as you no doubt can imagine,” he said with finality. _Well, that subject is off-limits_ , she thought to herself. She wasn’t exactly in a hurry to go into her own family history either.

The pair took seats across from each other, a small wooden table with a tea tray atop it was all the separated them. He watched her closely from a high back chair with worn fabric on the arms, a pile of books with markers accompanied the nightstand nearby. The lounge she sat on was luxurious but not too comfortable to put her immediately to sleep, probably by design so that guests to the manor would not outstay their welcome.

Venice looked down at the cup of tea for inspiration but the tea leaves were far too gone to be of any use. Carefully, she tried to get to the issue which had gripped her heart for quite some time, long before the war had even started.

“Men are destructive creatures. War is legalised murder. I am a murderer. I’ve killed more primals than I can count, more men than names I can remember. As someone who portends to be a white mage, it must sound abhorrent. But it is the truth.”

“Is that why you’ve begun to collect other soul crystals?”

“Partially, but that is an altogether different story that I’m not ready to go into yet,” she took a much needed sip of tea before continuing, “You brought peace to Ishgard, there were trials and tribulations aplenty along the way but you overcame all of them. You really did it, what sounded like an impossible dream became reality.”

“ _We_ did it,” he corrected her.

“Peace in our time. We were so close. So close!” she said with exasperation. “And then the bloody Alliance sent you straight back to war. Just like that, there wasn’t even a debate about it, no hesitation. They were so convinced that your presence would bolster their strength, so much so that they wanted to try out their new army right away.

I never expected them to reach a decision so fast about anything, let alone one as big as invading Garlean territory. You joined Ishgard to the Alliance at my behest and for that I will take full responsibility, had I known what it would lead to. Well, how could I?”

“Why didn’t you speak up at the meeting? Had I known your opinion I could have prepared an argument to support it.” If he had opinions of the other Alliance leaders and their decisions, he was keeping them to himself.

“They don’t care what I think, they aren’t like you,” she tried to explain. “And truthfully I thought there would have more meetings than the one, I think they were so eager to impress you with their ability to reach consensus that they would have done anything to make themselves look good. I’m no expert on politics, that’s just what my gut says on the matter. Anyroad, what is done is done, now we deal with repercussions.”

Ending a war had been one thing, starting one was an altogether different situation. Venice hardly needed to explain the nature of war and peace with the lord command of Ishgard but she had to make sense of her own place within it. How much responsibility could she take for the current state of affairs and what of the future. Could she not have good intentions and still manage to destroy the world, like the Warrior of Darkness? She had began her journey by running away from Garlemald now it seemed like she was rushing headlong back there without a plan.

“In less than a single summer, I have made a habit of liberating two nations, three if you count my previous efforts here in Ishgard. It's a habit which I do not like. Not because I don’t see the value in helping people, on the contrary, Zenos was an irredeemable monster playing a dangerous game with the lives of innocents. He had to be put down. But there are countless other self-indulgent fools like him in the Empire. It won’t be long before they strike back with their full strength. And so it will go on until one side emerges victorious, with more dead mounting on each side until the conclusion is reached.”

“Perhaps, but what alternative do you propose? The wheels are in motion now,” Aymeric sounded ever the politician.

“I don’t know, find a time machine and undo what we’ve done?” Venice jested. If she knew the answers, she wouldn’t have need of his counsel. “Do we just keep fighting and fighting until there’s nothing left to fight over?”

There was a long silence broken up by the crackling sound of a fresh log succumbing to ash as they continued to enjoy their refreshments. Venice was transfixed by the dual nature of the fire, both a catalyst of destruction and creation, a dangerous source of warmth and beauty. It could be used to bring harm or to heal. She wondered which she would be doing more of in the future.

“Remember when we were in the Churning Mists?” Aymeric’s soothing voice brought her back to the present. “Everything was hanging in the balance, we stood upon the precipice waiting to see if we would succumb to the abyss or by some miracle emerge victorious.”

“I remember,” she thought back to that day, they literally had stood against a precipice just as he had described.

The pair of them looking out over Zenith and the ruins around it, looking into the past when mankind and dragonkind lived together in peace and harmony. The statue of Saint Shiva loomed over the sacred grounds; the buildings, though crumbling in the present, had once been glorious, bearing all the hallmarks of modern day Ishgardian design.

She had never felt as serene as she had in that singular moment, the lull before the storm. He must have felt altogether different, the war had taken on a dire turn, no longer was it about competing ideology or territory but rather the very survival of an entire nation.

“Given the circumstances, you looked exceptionally calm that day,” she recalled.

“I was terrified!” he said with mock admonishment, much to her surprise. She had never seen him show any hint of fear aside from the one Echo she had received after Haurchefant’s death. But that was the nature of Echos: allowing one to see emotions that were hidden within, like a cheat sheet that nobody else had access to.

He continued after a pause, ”But we had to go forward, there was no turning back at that point. If peace existed in the past then why not again? And with you at my side, I knew it could be achieved.

As you said, there were many obstacles on the road to peace, the last of which was Nidhogg himself. Nothing has changed now aside from who our enemy is, the end goal remains ever the same.”

“To have peace, we first must prepare for war,” Venice said, not remembering where she had heard the phrase before. It sounded like something the Empire would have drilled into its subjects to justify their endless crusade of conquest and oppression.

“Precisely. To protect what we’ve fought for, what we may continue to accomplish, we must not stop. We keep fighting so others don’t have to.”

“How far will we have to go this time? How many more will be lost? When is it enough?” Venice shook her head. “This is the sort of chaos that the Ascians thrive on, they won’t even have to do anything as men tear each apart and bring about their own demise. Papylmo’s sacrifice would be in vain, just as Louisoix’s was, just as the next person who comes along to delay what cannot be stopped. I’ve fought many enemies but none is worse than mankind,” she stopped to take another sip only to find that her cup was empty. With a frown, she asked in a wishful tone, “Would it be so bad if we could all find a way to get along?”

Aymeric also paused to sip his tea. When he was finished, he set the cup down and looked Venice in the eye. No, it felt more like he looked through her.

“You want peace for Eorzea but you also want it for yourself. You seek absolution for the part you’ve played in the bloodshed, for the lives you have taken and for those you failed to save.”

“How do you know?” she whispered.

“Though the Dragonsong War is over, it has not stopped me from writing letters of condolences,” he looked like he wanted to say more but the right words would not come. He fixed her with another piercing stare, sky-blue eyes brimming with sorrow, “It never stops. You can’t stop men and women from dying for what they believe in.”

Venice felt like a complete idiot. The thing she feared most was being put in a position where she was responsible for those who lived and died, a position of authority and power, controlling the fates of others. But Aymeric lived with that burden every day, he had to endure so that his people could thrive. He couldn’t afford to fall apart because the decisions were too hard for others to make. And here she was worried about something that hadn’t even come to pass; some _Warrior_ of Light. Why couldn’t she have been the Stalwart of Light or the Keeper of Light instead?

“Pray forgive me, I’m being selfish and unfair.”

He leaned over the small table between them and enclosed her hands within his own, tightly pressing them together. It was a simple gesture which spoke volumes, Venice felt a lump form in her throat. He saw her for who she was and it didn’t bother him.

“Only the Fury can judge our hearts.”

As a Garlean, Venice had been taught that faith and religion were constructs invented to tell lesser men how to think and feel. Her time in the Holy See of Ishgard had challenged that notion many times and she was not certain of what she personally believed in any more. There was something uplifting about devotion even if she did not understand it.

Regardless, the intended sentiment was clear: not everything was in her hands, blaming herself would not resolve anything. She got the distinct impression that his words were not intended for her benefit alone. He was revealing his own struggle with the same conviction, to mullify her sense of trepidation. She closed her eyes tight as the lump in her throat continued to swell, again the question rang through her head: how did he know? She barely knew her own mind.

As if in response to her unspoken question, he got up to sit beside her and without a word held her close. He enveloped her with the arms which had once possessed the strength to carry a bruised and battered Estinien in full dragoon mail all the way from the danger of the Steps of Faith to the sanctuary provided within the Congregation's infirmary. Aymeric was not known for giving up on those who needed him most. When he bestowed the same degree of comfort and succor to Venice, she did not resist.

“Don’t _be_ a soldier, Venice. Be a Warrior of Light, whatever that means to you. Make it your own.”

She nearly broke down right then and there, she wanted to let go of all her defences but for some reason could not. Suddenly, she could hear Hydaelyn’s old mantra, like a long forgotten dream: “Hear, feel, think”. She buried her face against his chest, pushing back the unbidden tears which threatened to reveal too much, finding the scent of lavender and honey lemons therein most relaxing. She could hear his alleviated heart rate which betrayed his usual stoicism, feel his warm breath against her forehead; every moment they had spent together, from Coerthas to Gyr Abania, came flooding into her mind like an Echo. The tears never arrived, dispelled by the sanctuary which she had taken solace within and she knew she had been holding back for far too long.

At last, Venice found the courage to speak again, “Minfilia once asked me why I do what I do. I told her it was because I didn’t trust anyone else to do the job just as well, I suppose that remains true now. The world is broken and nobody can mend it but me. If that means going so far as fighting, no, dismantling the Empire, then so be it. That is an endeavour worth pursuing with all my effort and I will do it my way.” Saying the words was easy, believing and taking action upon them would be much more difficult. With her resolution verbally renewed, she was finally free to be herself.

They continued to talk into the small hours of the morning, long enough for most of the candles to burn themselves out. The topics ranged from big to small, everything from the meaning of life, to various permutations of the future, of loved ones lost, and even touching on Venice’s childhood in the small fishing village of Mercius in southern Ilsabard. She told him of how she had crossed Baelsar’s Wall from the other side and how surreal it had been to return to Gyr Abania. All the while, he remained close by her side until eventually she wore herself out.

When she awoke, she was greeted by the sound of howling winds denoting a typical Ishgardian snow storm. The dying embers of the fireplace were smouldering and a warm woolen blanket had been draped upon her. She looked up to find that she was still nestled beside him on the lounge.

One arm was still firmly tucked under hers while his free hand held up a leather-bound tome with a Halonic symbol along its spine. She surmised it was one of many holy books. He didn’t seem too interested in the words on the page at that particular moment, rather he had that deep lost-in-thought expression that she was more familiar with interrupting during her many visits to the Congregation in the past.

“How long have I been out for?” she asked with a yawn.

“That’s a good question,” he said, placing a ribbon of fabric between the leaves before closing the volume. “There’s a guest room if you’d like to get a proper rest. I’d be happy to show it to you.”

“That’s not nece-” she began before another yawn cut her off. She gave him a sheepish look.

“I do insist. In fact, I’d like to extend the offer by suggesting you stay for a couple of days if you are willing. It seems obvious to me that you need time to acclimatise after your time on the front. Your body may be whole but your spirit needs time to heal,” he pointed to the bag of soul crystals that she kept close. “If you push yourself too hard, who will protect the realm?”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I had any free time,” she tried to laugh. “I’ve already talked for hours, spinning myself into circles trying to make sense of all the thoughts that have been running through my head since the end of the siege.”

“Try to live normally for a little while and see how it suits you, I’m sure you’ll find something to your liking,” he made to move, grimacing slightly as the feeling returned to his arm. Once he was on his feet he helped her to hers. “You wouldn’t have any responsibilities or obligations, you could do as you please. Besides, having a house guest to entertain would be a welcome change of pace for me.”

He offered her all the freedom that she was accustomed to, the sort of freedom he might never have for himself. Sacrificing one’s own freedom for another was the very definition of love as far as she was concerned, she wondered if he had meant it that way or not.

“Wouldn’t people talk if they knew I was staying here?”

“Don’t they already talk? Venice, I have spent my entire life being publically scrutinised and I’m sure given your feats, you’ve experienced it as well. Put simply, who cares?”

_Who cares indeed._

“How about a compromise: one night, then I can decide if I want to stay for more.”

“Of course; you are, after all, beholden to none,” he stretched, showing his own need for rest. “The room is this way, if you’d follow me.”

“Aymeric, wait..” she paused. “Thank you for giving a shit. About me.”

“I beg your pardon?” he was genuinely confused by her crass common speak.

“Anyone who has ever gotten close to me has ended up dead. I don’t talk openly like this any more, who would possibly understand? Perhaps Alisaie or Alphinaud but I have to put on a brave face for them. And, well, this is very new and a bit overwhelming to be honest. So thanks.”

“It is a great honour and privilege to bear your confidence. You are most welcome,” he said it as though he were still perplexed by her desire to thank him for what seemed like an obvious thing for one to do.

Without warning, Venice grabbed his wrist and looked deep into his bewildered face. “Somebody once loved me, I didn’t know until they were already gone. I _won’t_ repeat that mistake,” she didn’t know what compelled her to say it but when the words were out they felt right; the boundary had to be established for both their sakes.

“Haurchefant,” he said without equivocation.

“Haurchefant,” she affirmed.

“He had impeccable taste, did he not?” he said with a small laugh, choosing not to dwell on the grief that had originally bound them together. “A man reaches a point when he loses so much that he begins to lose sight of himself. When you’re ready to be found, you need only ask.”

\---

Venice woke suddenly in a pool of sweat, panting for breath. She couldn’t recall where she was, the dark room was far too luxurious to be a groddy inn room. The sound of the raging snow storm outside helped to reorient her, though it continued to obscure the time of the day. The blur of sleep conspired to lull her back to her pillow but her flight or fight defences had already been activated.

Heavy footsteps pelted down the long hallway. In the door frame stood a moderately frantic, lithe form holding a single candle in a brass holder, the dancing flame illuminating his concerned expression. Venice was more accustomed to seeing Aymeric in bulky plate armour or fancy dress suits, to see him in nothing more than a casual house coat and trousers revealed how little she had paid attention to his appearance throughout the night.

“Is aught a miss? I heard a noise and came to find it source,” He entered the room and placed the candle holder atop the nightstand next to her bed.

By that point, Venice knew where she was and what had caused her such distress.

“What did it sound like? Did I say something?” she rubbed at the sleep in her eyes and pulled herself up to a sitting position against a propped up pillow.

“I’m not sure, it was too far away to make out. Did you have a bad dream?”

She nodded, “This has been happening for awhile now, I’m so sorry to wake you.”

“It's no bother, no rest for the righteous, right?” he sat down on the edge of the bed with her. “They keep me awake some nights as well.”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she tried to laugh but it came out as a small cough. Her breathing had gone back to normal.

“I usually have the same one over and over,” he said quietly, looking away from her. “About that horrible day when everything that could go wrong did. I try to save him, sometimes I do. But instead of Haurchefant, it's you in my arms, dieing, while he screams and yells at me.”

“You dream about me dieing?” Venice asked with grim curiosity. He nodded solemnly, “What happens when I survive?”

“You get really quiet, you turn your back upon me. The silence is deafening, I’m not sure which is worse. Then you leave with the intent to never return again,” he looked at her and she felt her terror begin to give way to a great sadness. She had had the same dreams about Haurchefant’s unavoidable death many times as well. The sound of his shield cracking would haunt her forever.

“They aren’t real,” she patted his hand.

“Nay, they aren’t,” he agreed. Somehow she knew that was the subtle point he had been trying to prove by going first; he often let others work out the solutions to their own dilemmas.

“I never remember the details of mine,” Venice admitted. “There’s a maniacal laugh and this sensation that.. Zenos and I are one and the same.”

“How could you possibly think that?”

“Because he said as much. Before he fused with Shinryu, he talked at great length about how alike we were. We were equals in power and purpose. That’s why he showed me mercy twice over. That’s why I was granted the privilege to fight him for a final time.

That mad man sacrificed his own troops, destroyed the souls of the people in his charge, because it entertained him, because there was nobody to stop him from doing it. And he thought I was the only one in the world who could understand and maybe in a sick way appreciate what he had done. Of course, I dismissed his insults out of hand at the time. But having so much time to think since then, I guess his words have been gnawing away at something deep down.”

“You can’t for a moment pretend that the two of you are remotely comparable aside from both being Garlean,” he cautioned her. She knew it was true but something about Zenos’ melodramatic speech had struck a nerve and she couldn’t quite work out the why of it.

“I should never have survived either of our first two encounters, I can still feel the bite of his steel against my neck,” she reached up them to touch the spot, she shivered at the memory of that katana ready to make its killing blow upon her. How close had she had come to death in her long journey, never had she physically felt its kiss as she had in Doma, “You have no idea what it’s like to survive when you know you shouldn’t have. The shame, the guilt, the injustice of being a lone survivor. Why me and not others?”

“You might be surprised.”

“That’s why I’ve been working on learning new fighting techniques, I can never leave myself that exposed again. If I had failed to stop him, he would have decimated the entire Alliance and finished the work Ilberd had started, plunging the world into another Calamity, ushering in the resurrection of Zodiark and undoing everything I have been striving to prevent.“

“If you had faltered, my unit was in position to cover you, everything would have worked out in the end,” he reminded her.

“I know and I am eternally grateful. Knowing that you were there gave me the courage to press on into the throne room, to finish him once and for all. But gods, listen to me go on today,” she let out a long sigh. “Most of the time I can handle the pressure but lately, I keep thinking of what could have been. What happens when I can’t bear it any more?”

“Venice, I have your back. Always,” he leaned in to hug her tight. She would have accepted more than that from him had she not already declared her ultimatum on potential romantic entanglements earlier. _Good one, Venice_. He retrieved the candle holder and made to leave the room, “Now for the love of the Fury, please get some sleep.”


End file.
